


That Which Is Within

by lioness_of_honnleath



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mia as the Inquisitor AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:16:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4809380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lioness_of_honnleath/pseuds/lioness_of_honnleath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU.  All Mia Rutherford wanted was to go to the Temple of Scared Ashes and try to find her long lost brother.  She has no way of knowing that doing so will set her on a path that will threaten both her life and everything she holds dear.  Now, surrounded by enemies that defy comprehension and allies who are strangers (her own flesh and blood among them) Mia must find the strength to become more than she is, or risk the destruction of the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is an experiment. It began as a thought exercise because I wanted to get to know this firey, determined woman in Cullen's life...and I ended up falling in love with her, and the more I thought about it the more possible it seemed to me that if she knew her wayward brother was only a few days travel away, well, there'd be no stopping her trying to get to him. This is the result. It will be 'canon' compliant in all significant ways, though I'm sure there will be some adjusting as we go. I'm having fun writing it, and I thought maybe someone out there might enjoy reading it as well. If you have thoughts, I'd love to hear them. :)
> 
> You can find this and lots of other Mia related stuff over at lionessofhonnleath.tumblr.com
> 
> Cheers!

It’s a long shot. 

She knows it’s a long shot.  But she’s spent the last ten years hoping and waiting and writing letters that are neither returned nor answered, and if that hasn’t broken her determination then two weeks of hard travel sure as hell wont.  It began with a letter, three short lines, which was practically novel length considering the source.

_Mia,_

_I have decided to leave the Templar Order, there is little left for me here in Kirkwall, and I have perhaps found a greater cause to lend my sword to.  A Divine Conclave is being held at the Temple of Scared Ashes, I am going there in the hope that I may be of some assistance, this conflict between Mages and Templars will be the destruction of all if we cannot find a way to end it.  I will write when I have more news._

_Cullen_

She reads the letter three times in a row, standing in the middle of the kitchen with her hands covered in flower, her heart pounding in her throat. Then she quietly sets it on the smooth stone counter top and goes to pack a bag.

The night before she leaves dinner is a quiet affair, just the three of them. Branson’s wife Zoe is heavy with child and has politely excused herself to go lie down, though Mia suspects it is an act more of discretion than necessity.  Rosalie is silent, picking at her rabbit stew with glum distraction. Branson eats methodically, but the tight lines of his body speak volumes.  Finally Mia sighs and sets her spoon down with a snap.  

“OK. This is silly. You’re both acting like someone died.”  It is, perhaps, a poor choice of words. “Two weeks, that’s all.  I’ll be back before you know it.”  Rose drops her spoon in disgust and Branson leans back in his chair scowling. 

"It should be me going." He says, his face is clouded but his words lack punch. They've been having the same argument for three days and he's tired. So is she. 

 "Bran. You know why--" she begins. He cuts her off with a wave of his hand. 

"Zo could have the baby any day now, they need me and of course I want to be here but...” He trails off, shaking his head in resignation. “I just don’t like the thought of you going up there alone.”

“I wont be alone.”  Mia says, smiling to hide the fact that she’s not wild about the idea either. “There are merchants and convoys and pilgrims...all heading the same way. I rather expect that I’ll be longing for some solitude in two days time.”  She reaches across the table and takes his hand.  Its warm and callused and so familiar her heart aches. He gives hers a reluctant squeeze in return.

“I don’t like it when people leave.” Rosalie mumbles. Mia turns to discover that her little sister had pulled her knees up to her chin, her heels resting on the edge of the wooden bench she is perched on.  It makes her look six years old again, like a small ruffled bird.  “They leave, and they don’t come back.”  Mia pats Branson’s hand once and then scoots her chair back from her plate and moves to sit next to Rose.  Without a word Rosalie uncurls into Mia’s arms, her head tucked into her sister’s shoulder the way it has a thousand times before.

“It hasn’t always been easy for us.” Mia says, pulling Rose closer to her and reaching out a hand to Branson again.  He scoots forward and takes it. “But we’ve always made a way through. We’ve helped each other, loved each other, made a life.”  She nudges Rosalie gently until the girl is looking at her.  “But Cullen--” Her voice catches a little as the image of a boy with a bright, open face; and a heart the size of the Waking Sea. How much of him remains? 

“I have to find him.  Not just because I promised mother I would look out for him, for all of you, but...”  She shakes her head, unsure how to say the things that have been churning in her gut the last few days. “I can’t explain it.  Something is coming...something terrible...and I just need to be sure he knows he’s not alone. I owe him that.  We all do.”

There is a long pause before Bran says reluctantly,

“Its been a long time Mia.  After everything that’s happened...the Blight and--and Kirkwall, whatever the hell that was...he hasn’t written in so long.  How can you be sure he even wants to see you?”  He doesn't mean the words to hurt her, logically she knows that none of the horrifying events that seem to dog her oldest brother’s steps are her responsibility. Logic doesn't stop the guilt that stabs at her with hot little knives.   

“I don’t know.”  She sighs, “Maybe he wont speak to me. But I have to try.”

“Yeah.”  Branson says, then stands abruptly. “Well then, you’d better get to bed, you’ll have an early start.  Rose and I will clean up.”  He leans down to kiss her quickly on the cheek and then is hustling the dirty plates away. Rosalie stays longer, unwilling to give up the moment. Finally she looks up and Mia can see a ferocious determination in her eyes. 

“Tell Cullen we love him.”  She says.  “Ask him to come home.”

“I will.”  Mia says, giving her a tight hug. 

“And then,” Rose says, with steel in her voice. “Come back.”

“I promise.”

She doesn't know it then, looking down into her sisters bright eyes, but it is this promise that will keep her fighting through the horrifying weeks to come.  On the nights when despair threatens to swallow her whole, when all she wants to do is lie down, never to rise again, two words resound like a beacon in the night.

Come back. 

Come back.

Come back.

And then,

_I promise._


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this so far. I'm not sure I really understood just how big an undertaking this was going to be. Hrmm. My goal right now is to update once a week, maybe more if I can get a good chunk of writing time in. This one's a little bumpy, intros are hard! But we're moving right along! Anyway. Thanks for all the support so far! As always I'd love to hear your thoughts. You can also find me over at lionessofhonnleath.tumblr.com

When Mia was very small, her parents took her to visit her Grandmother who lived in West Hill on the shore of the Waking Sea.  She remembers flashes, her Meme’s wrinkled hands, the sound of the sea birds, and most clearly of all the afternoon she was exploring the beach with her father and a wave had caught them off guard, knocking her into the surf.  One moment she had been standing with her toes digging into the wet sand, and the next her whole world was gone—replaced with shattered fragments of light and sound.  Saltwater rushed up her nose, spilling fire down her throat, her eyes burned.  She couldn’t breath, couldn’t scream, could do nothing but be buffeted by an endless void of chaos and confusion until suddenly Papa had yanked her upright, his own fear adding unintended violence to the motion.  She remembers his shaking voice as the world spun and she vomited sea water all over the pebbled beach.

This is what coming back to herself is like—a tumbling through a haze of pain and confusion—desperate grabs at sounds and colors—a flash of green, a voice murmuring in a language she can’t understand, fear.  And then, a violent yank upward into some semblance of consciousness with no greater understanding than before. Voices swirl around her, angry, urgent,

“She’s awake.”

“Good. Bring her.”

“Seeker, I must protest, the mark is far from stable.”

“Your objection is noted Solas. Guards—“

And then she is moving, Papa has her by the arm and is dragging her to the beach.  His hands hurt on her freezing skin.  She wants to tell him, she’s sure he doesn’t mean it, but she can’t find her voice over the roar of the waves crashing in her ears.

Her next lucid thought is that her knees hurt, which is weird because she remembers the sand being warm and soft…but she isn’t kneeling on sand, instead cold stone seeps damp into her tattered trousers.  She reaches out instinctively, trying to shift into a more comfortable position, and discovers her hands are shackled. This would be alarming enough, but as she clumsily raises them to get a better look a bolt of green energy shoots up her left arm.  It is like sticking her hand into an open flame and she can’t stop the yelp of pain that escapes her lips.  She twists her body back, trying to escape her own hand, and the movement causes the four guards she hadn’t even realized were there to move forward, blades at the ready.   It is then that the door bursts open and two women stride into the room.  The first is tall, powerful, her face a ridged mask of anger and something else, grief?  The second figure is more slight, and Mia can’t see her face past the shadow of her hood.  She remains by the door in the half light as the first woman moves forward, her steps circling like a predator about to strike.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now?”  She says, her voice is steel, Mia flinches back involuntarily. “The conclave is destroyed.  Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.”

The conclave. The conclave…The temple of Scared Ashes…Cullen.  She speaks without meaning too.

“What do you mean everyone is dead?”

Instead of answering the woman reaches down and grabs Mia’s wrist, jerking her hands up into the light.  The wound across the palm of her left hand hisses and bleeds green fire and it _hurts_.

“I—I can’t.”  Mia gasps. 

“What do you mean you can’t!?”  The woman demands.  Mia can feel her head beginning to spin, the room begins to list to one side.  Its too much. Too much. And her hand is on fire.

“I don’t know what that is. Or how it got there.”  She says, desperate for some sanity to hold onto. “I was only looking for my brother, he—“

“You’re lying!” The woman growls, her hands closing around the collar of Mia’s shirt, yanking her forward.  They are eye to eye now and Mia can feel the despair that fuels the rage of this woman shaped fortress rolling off in waves.  Without warning the second woman steps out of the shadows to the left and places a firm hand on the first woman’s shoulder, pushing her back a few steps.

“We need her Cassandra.”  She says before turning her gaze back to Mia.  Her face is clearer now, softened by the torchlight, but there is no hit of sympathy in her expression.  Mia struggles to understand.

_The conclave is destroyed.  Everyone who attended is dead._

“I can’t believe it.”  She gasps, the wave of loss that is rising in her chest as the words sink in makes it difficult to breath. “All those people—dead.” _Oh Cullen. I’m so sorry._

“Do you remember what happened?” The hooded woman asks, her voice is clipped, business like. “How this began?”  Mia closes her eyes, reaching back for something, anything. There are only fragments.

“I remember running…things were chasing me…and then—then, a woman?” She shakes her head, every time she tries to grasp the memory it slips away, hovering just out of reach.

“A woman?”  Mia nods, more to herself than the women hanging on her every word.

“She reached out to me.  And, and then…”  But there is no more, the images dissolve in scattered bits of flotsam and drift away.

The first woman, Cassandra, is speaking again.

“Go to the forward camp Leliana. I will take her to the rift.”

***

As she steps out into the day open air, the first thing that strikes Mia is how wrong the light is.  The breeze is cold and snow flecked and something nearby is burning sending acrid smoke into her eyes.  And beyond everything else is the stuff of nightmares.  The sky is torn, a gaping ruin that belches green fire in acidic arcs.

“We call it the breach.” Cassandra says, her voice has lost it’s razor edge and now sounds as hollow as Mia feels.  “It is a gateway into the world of demons, it is not the only such rift, but it is the largest.”  She turns and pins Mia with a searching look. “It was caused by the explosion at the conclave.  The same explosion that failed to kill you.”

Mia can’t stop her eyes from drifting back to sickly green sky.

“How could an exposing do that?”

“No one knows, but it grows larger by the hour. If we cannot find a way to stop it, it could swallow the world.”

She has so many questions, too many, but before she can ask even one of them the sky pulses with a sound like thunder and Mia’s arm erupts in fire.  The pain of it drives her to her knees, all the air in her body escaping in one strangled cry.  When she can see again Cassandra is kneeling before her, there is something like pity in her eyes.

“Every time the breach expands,” She says slowly. “your mark grows, and it is killing you. We think it may be the key to sealing the breach but…there isn’t much time.”

“Meaning,” Mia grinds out through clenched teeth. “I’ll probably be dead in a few hours.”

“I’m sorry.”  Cassandra says.

“Well. This is turning into a seriously shit day.” She doesn’t mean it to be funny, but finds herself grinning just the same.  It’s a giddy smile, edging towards they hysterical, but she clings to it.  To do anything else is to admit defeat, and that’s not something Mia is accustomed to doing.

“You said the mark could close the breach. If that’s true…what do I have to do?”   Cassandra considers her for a long moment before speaking.

“We must get to the site of the original rift, after that, well, we shall see.” She says, then takes Mia by the shoulders and helps her to her feet. “Come.”

The walk through the camp is a silent one.  The expressions on the faces of the men and women she passes leaves Mia with little doubt on their opinion of her guilt.

“It wasn’t me.”  She says softly as man with a scared face spits as she passes. “Why would I do this do myself?”

“They need your guilt. It is easier to have someone to blame.” Cassandra answers, picking up their pace. “We are all grieving the loss of the Divine, and many of these survivors had friends or family at the temple. ”

So did I, Mia wants to say, but the words are to sharp, they cut deep into her gut and stay there, stabbing her with every step. Push them away. She cannot think of him now.  She cannot.

“Cassandra.” She says at last, they are clear of the camp and making their way across an ice covered bridge. “If this doesn’t—if I don’t…I have family, in South Reach—“ The rest of her words are lost in a thunderous explosion as a flair of green energy strikes the stones before them and the ground vanishes beneath their feet.  They are falling, tumbling out of control, and then with a bone jarring impact Mia lands hard, all the air knocked out of her lungs.   There is a sound like thick ice cracking, and metallic shing, and Cassandra is dragging her to her feet.  
  
“Stay behind me!”  The warrior calls, advancing on a hulking, twisted shape several feet in front of them.  Mia’s never seen demons in person before, but she has no doubt that the creature Cassandra is slashing at can be nothing else.  For a moment it looks like Cassandra is gaining the upper hand, but then a second creature begins to claw it’s way out of the ground behind her.

Mia glances around desperately for something, anything to defend herself.  The area behind her is littered with the remains of the bridge and its contents a she runs to a pile of ruined crates.  Weapons stores. Good.  Two handed broadsword. Not so good, she’d never be able to lift it. Heavy shield, can she hide behind it?  Not for long. Dagger?  She scoops it up and chucks it toward the advancing demon who bats it out of the air without effort, sending it clattering to the ice. Shit. She’s about to try her luck with a large hunk of stone when she sees the bow half buried in a snow bank.  She scrambles over and tugs it lose, bringing a half full quiver of arrows with it. _Thank you._  Pulling out an arrow she lines out the shot, releases a slow breath, and lets the bolt fly.  It finds it’s mark with a satisfying _thunk_.  The creature recoils with a shriek, she is not such easy prey after all.  She is reaching for a second arrow when suddenly Cassandra’s blade appears in the center of the demon’s chest. It howls in pain and then dissolves into green mist and sludge.

The two women stand facing each other for a moment, breathing hard, then Cassandra lifts her sword again.

“Drop your weapon.” She says, taking a step forward. “Now.”


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one week! The gall! And we're *still* not to the bit I've really been wanting to write...but we're close my friends. Oh yes. 
> 
> Thanks as always to having a look!

The part of her brain that keeps misfiring is urging her to laugh hysterically. The world is ending, her brother is dead, her own arm has become an alien entity and now the formidable, extremely well armed woman in front of her seems to believe that there’s a chance in hell that Mia and her mediocre archery skills pose some sort of threat.  Its ludicrous.  The laughter bubbles up, but gets twisted somewhere between her gut and her mouth because it comes out half exclamation half sob.

“Look.” Mia says, holding the bow away from her body but reluctant to put it down. “If I’m going to follow you through demon infested countryside you have to give me something.” _Besides_ , she thinks, _its not like I’m actually going to be able to hit anything, rabbits and dear? Sure. Demons?  Not so much._ She doesn’t say it out loud because an uncertain weapon is better than no weapon at all.  Cassandra frowns at her for a long moment then lowers her sword. 

“I suppose you are right.”  She says reluctantly and Mia sags a little in relief.  “Stay behind me, and do not think to try and run.”

Where would I go? Mia starts to ask, but just then her mark flairs again and all her concentration goes into not doubling over. It dies away quickly and she rights herself, not meeting Cassandra’s eyes.

“Lead on.”  She says, “I think we’d better hurry.”

The next hour is a blur of snow and demons and the ever constant thrum of the mark.  The further they press on the faster it pulses, a heartbeat that is not her own, a force so strong she can begin to feel her body crumbling before it. For the first time she really understands that she’s probably going to die on this mountain, and soon.  

By the time they reach the summit Mia is struggling for breath.  Cassandra offers a sympathetic look but her pace never wavers.

“We’re almost there,” She says, and Mia can hear the restrained encouragement in her voice. “They are fighting, we must help them.”

“Help who?” Mia gasps, even as they crest the rise and she can see down into the shallow valley below.  A handful of figures fight as wave after wave of demons spill through a sickly green rent in the very air.

“There are small versions of the breach opening all over the mountains.  We’ve gotten reports of some as far south as Redcliff, but it is very likely they are happing across Thedas.”  Cassandra says, offering a hand to help her down the steep rocky slope.

“How is this possible?” Mia breaths, but there isn’t time to allow the scale of what they are facing to sink in. Once they are on relatively solid footing Cassandra looks at her, a clear question in her eyes. In response Mia just sets an arrow to her bowstring. Without another word Cassandra charges forward and Mia follows, more of her shots find their targets than don’t and she thinks vaguely that maybe she’s better at this archery thing than she knew.  Somehow she finds herself in the thick of things, drawn toward the rift like a moth to a flame, even though every step closer to it makes her feel as though she is  unraveling.  When she finally stops to breathe she sees that somehow, unbelievably, they’ve cleared the area, although the way the rift is sparking makes her sure another surge in incoming. Do they never end?

Suddenly a tall figure is beside her, slender fingers close around her wrist like an iron band yanking her arm up, and someone cries,

“Quickly, before more come through!”

And then the world opens up, and she can _see._ The disjointed rhythm that has been relentlessly battering at her body drops into time with her own heart beat and she knows what to do. The rift stands before her, caught in an endless second of time, and she calls to it, calms it, closes it. The moment stretches on into forever, and then her hand is falling back to her side and she is back in the cold and the muck, breathing hard and aching. She looks up to find a tall elven man gazing down at her. He gives her an appraising look and then steps away, giving her space she’s not sure she wants.  She feels raw and exposed and so, so tired.

“What did you do?”  She asks, sounding more accusatory than she means to. If he takes offense the elf doesn’t show it, merely nods and says,

“I did nothing, the credit belongs to you.” His voice is calm and even, as if sealing veil rifts is no more difficult than baking bread.

“The mark did that?”  She says, more to herself than those standing around her.  She looks down at her palm, at the bloodless gash that teems with green fire. Her head hurts.

“You were right. It can close the rifts.”  Cassandra says, moving in closer.

“So it would seem.” The Elf responds.

“Then—then it could also close the breach?” Cassandra’s eyes are wide, something akin to hope on her face.

“Well done Chuckles,” A new voice chimes in, “That’s the closest the seeker’s come to a smile in weeks.” Mia turns to the newcomer as Cassandra lets out a little huff of impatience.  A dwarf with the largest crossbow Mia has ever seen is sauntering toward them, a grin on his battle grimed face.

“Varric Tethras.” He says with a little bow.  “Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwanted tagalong.”  The wink he sends Cassandra is both rakish and biting.

“I have told you Varric—“ Cassandra begins, but before she can continue, the elf smoothly interrupts what feels like the beginning of well worn argument.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions.” He says. “I am pleased to see you yet live.”

“He means,” Varric chimes in, “that he kept that think from killing you while you slept.” There is a sudden flash in Mia’s mind, memories or dreams she can’t be sure which, old words and older melodies cocooning her from the raging maelstrom all around.

“I remember you.” She blurts without meaning to, “You sang to me.” As soon as the words are out she feels foolish.  “I’m sorry. That can’t be right. Its all a bit…” She shrugs, unable to find a word to describe the sensation.  Solas studies her face for a moment, then smiles. It is a kind smile, even if it is vaguely distant.

“I am please to be of assistance.”

“I hate to break up this charming conversation.” Varric says, urgency leaking through his casual tone. “But shouldn’t we get moving? The breach isn’t going to seal itself you know.”

“Absolutely not.” Cassandra says, all business once again. “Your help is appreciated Varric but-“

“Have you been in the valley Seeker?” The dwarf’s words begin to harden into a sharp point. “While you’ve been off playing good guard, worse guard with our new friend here the situation has escalated. You’re not in control anymore.  I’m pretty sure Curly hasn’t slept in three days.  You’re going to need all the hands you can get.”

“Fine.” Cassandra snaps, surprising Mia. “Let’s move.”  She says before turning on her heel and walking down the path.  Varric shoots a grin in Mia’s direction and they all follow.  A short while later they cross a frozen stream and begin their final decent into the valley.

“So,” Varric says after a particularly close scrape with some fade demons. “Did you cause all this, or are you just about the most unlucky sod I’ve ever met?  And believe me, that’s saying something.”

“I—“ _Of course I didn’t do it,_ she wants to snap, _how could I have do something like this? I’m a farm girl from Ferelden, how could I be the cause of the end of the world?_   But that’s the trouble. What if somehow it is all her fault? The thought sickens her. “I don’t remember.”  She says flatly.

“Mmm.” Varric says, nodding sagely. “That’ll get you every time.”

“I find it highly unlikely, “ Solas says from off to her left “that any mage could have wielded the sort of power necessary to create such a catastrophe.”  Its not exactly a pardon, but it makes her feel better all the same.

“We’re here.” Cassandra says, then calls out, “Open the gates!”  Mia looks up and discovers they’ve exited the tree line and are facing huge timber and iron doors that block the entrance to a massive bridge spanning a ravine. Remember their last encounter with a bridge Mia makes a face.  There is a muffled shout in return and then the grinding of wood on stone as the doors swing open.  There is a makeshift camp on the other side, stretching out across the mile long expanse to where another set of heavy doors stand barred.  It’s a defensible location, Mia thinks as they pick their way toward the center where the red and gold banners of the Chantry flutter in the breeze, but if the demons made it past the doors, or worse if a rift opened in the midst of the camp…she shudders at the thought. 

As their little party draws closer to what is clearly the makeshift command center Mia can see a man in Chantry robes and the other woman from the interrogation, Maker—was that only a few hours ago, speaking heatedly.  The woman crosses her arms, her stillness speaking louder than the wildest gesticulation.  What was her name…?

“Leliana!” Cassandra calls, jogging forward to join the discussion. Mia hangs back.  The acceptance and almost playful banter of the last hour has let her forget the reason her wrists are still chafed and red from their earlier shackles.  Now, as the Chantry brother turns his cold gaze in her direction she can feel his distrust and anger like a blow.

“I order you to take the prisoner to Val Royeaux to face judgment.” He says, his voicing rising above the bustle of the camp, drawing the eyes of all close enough to hear.

“Order me?” Cassandra barks, “You are a glorified clerk.”

“And you are a thug.” The man says with a growl.

“Grand Chancellor please,” Leliana’s voice cuts through the growing tension like a blade. “Now is not the time for this. Regardless of her origin the prisoner remains our best hope of stopping this before its too late.”

“It is already too late.” The Chancellor snaps, then deflates. “Seeker please, we have lost so many already. You must call a retreat.”  For a moment Cassandra hesitates, she glances around searching, then looks at Leliana.

“Where is the Commander?” Before the woman can answer the Chancellor says,

“He led what remains of the fighting force into the valley, he thought to buy you more time but he may also be providing our last chance at escape. We must retreat.”  With a resounding boom the breach over their heads shudders and expands.  This time Mia can’t bite back the grunt of pain, its not just her arm now, she can feel it deep in her chest—something so deeply wrong that her mind can’t even comprehend it.

The lines of Cassandra’s face harden into steel.

“I am sorry Roderick, we cannot. Hold here as long as you can. Maker willing we will close the breach in time.”  She turns abruptly and looks Mia square in the face. “Are you ready.”

“I am. I wont live long enough for your trial” She says, meeting the chancellor’s gaze. “If we’re going to do this, I think we have to do it now.”

“Then we must hurry. Leliana, gather every able body left in the valley, bring them to the temple.” Leliana gives a curt bow and then is gone.  Cassandra re-shoulders her shield and begins to make her way toward the opposite side of the bridge.

“On your head be it Seeker!” Roderick calls after their backs.

“Charming man.” Varric snorts.

“Still glad you came Varric?” Cassandra says tartly.

It takes less time than she expects for them to make it to the fighting force, she can hear the sounds of battle before they reach the stone ruins where the battle is raging.  An open rift spews its fowl fire into their midst, the air is heavy and so thick with smoke that it is hard to see.

“Get to the rift.” Cassandra says, “I will clear a path the best I can.”

“I’m coming with you.” Varric says and it’s a testament to the gravity of the situation that Cassandra just nods and says,

“Stay with her Solas.”  Mia can’t tell if it’s a order to keep her safe or under guard, but it dosen’t matter because then they are running and she’s firing off arrows and praying that she has the strength to do what must be done.  

Somehow they make it through, though it’s a close thing. Once she feels a cold blast to her right and looks up to see a demon frozen solid, claws just inches from her face.  She throws Solas a grateful look and presses forward.  The fighting is thickest near the rift, she can hear Varric yelling something, other voices answer through the haze.  She can tell when she’s within range, the mark on her palm bursts into life, the moment seeming to stretch before her like empty shore.  It’s a little bit harder than the times before; she’s tiring, it wont be long now, but with one massive twist of will the rift snaps shut.  The effort leaves her gasping, her hands braced on her knees, her bow forgotten at her feet. By the time she has enough breath to raise her head the battle is over, the last of the demons overpowered by men and women in armor bearing an insignia she’s never seen before.

“Sealed.” Solas says quietly, “You are becoming quit proficient at this.”

“Let’s just hope it works on the big one.” Varric huffs, he has a cut on one cheek, but otherwise appears unharmed.  Mia glances around for Cassandra and finds her offering a hand to a tall man in heavy armor and furs.  His back is to her, but some in Mia’s gut twists, he looks…

“Lady Cassandra.” He says, “You closed the rift. Well done.” Cassandra smiles wearily and shakes her head.

“Do not congratulate me Commander,” She says, “This was the prisoner’s doing.”

“Is it?” The commander says, turning to look at her, a grim expression on his face. “I hope they’re right about you because—“ The words stop abruptly, what little color there is in his face drains away while at the same time her heart seizes so painfully she raises an involuntary hand to her chest.

It can’t be. He’s dead. _They told me you were dead._ He’s a vision, he must be, her dying mind trying to offer some comfort in her final moments. But when he speaks, the single word is halting and disbelieving and to painful to be a lie…

“Mia?”


End file.
